Eagle in the Snow: A Novel of General Maximus and Rome's Last Stand

Constantinus, white with anger, said, “It is not you who gives the orders here.” He smiled with an effort. “You can have half the money or none at all.”

“And if I refuse and take it all?” I touched my sword hilt lightly.

“My legions may be below strength, but—by the Gods—you will find it easier to defy an emperor than two thousand of my men.”

I said, “I have the orders of Stilicho to obey. Not yours.”

“Then obey them,” said Constantinus.

“He might come back,” said Quintus softly.

“Our barbarian general has married his daughter to the Emperor. He has considerable power,” I added gently.

Constans said, “Oh, he might come back, but he is a busy man. And if he has need of troops out of this island then it might seem that he would be hard put to it to send them in again.”

I looked at the pair of them, and I hated them. On the Wall I had commanded loyalty, but here I commanded nothing. Without men I was helpless, and they knew it.

“Very well,” I said. “Half then. But if I do not get my half, then I swear by the Great Bull that I will come back here and I will take the whole on the point of my sword.”

We went out into the bright sunlight and neither of us spoke for some time.

“It is a conspiracy,” I said. “With half the money he can re-equip his own men at the same rate as I equip mine. If I had it all I should have the strongest single command in the island. What is he afraid of? That I aspire to be Dux Britanniarum?”

“Of course.” Quintus grinned. “But he, at least, aspires to wear the purple.”

“Will he give us even half?”

“He must. He is a greedy man, but practical too. To keep all he must murder you first. But that would mean a break with Honorius. That he cannot afford, so he gets rid of you best by letting you go. He expects us to die in a forest in Germania.” He added slowly, “And we probably shall. Oh, Maximus, my friend, we probably shall.”

Two days later I rode south-west in the spring sunshine. Behind me I left my youth, my middle age, my wife and my happiness. I was a general now and I had only defeat or victory to look forward to. There was no middle way any longer, and I did not care.

V

I RODE THROUGH Deva, a ghost town of crumbling walls, burnt out houses and empty streets whose few inhabitants, their memories scarred by the raids of the Attacotti, and their ghastly customs, hid from me as I passed by. At length, after endless, twisting miles through the mountains, I felt the wind blow fresh and clean in my face and I could smell the sea. Segontium reminded me of Eburacum; and the Twentieth, when I had seen its sentries and met its officers, reminded me of the Sixth. There was the same slow smell of decay and indolence that made me long for my farmer-soldiers of far-away Borcovicum. Within an hour of my arrival I held a meeting of the senior officers and centurions. At the end I said, “There are going to be many changes, I warn you. I want no officer who is not prepared to do everything that his men have to do. Not only that—he must be able to do it better.”

I dismissed them and the next day we got down to work. I needed two key men for the corner-stones of my command, and after a week of careful watching I sent for Aquila and Julius Optatus, two of the younger officers who seemed to have something that the other century commanders lacked.

Aquila was a native of the region, a man of medium height, with a hooked nose and a quiet expression. Julius Optatus was short, square and stocky, and he had a craftsman’s hands and a voice like a bull. But he had a good memory and a talent for organisation.

“You two,” I said, “are going to be promoted. You, Aquila, to be Chief Centurion. You have only had five years’ service and you will go over the heads of men your senior. This is an unusual step to take, but then this is an unusual legion. You will have jealousy and envy to contend with. You won’t be able to beat that with a vine staff, so don’t try. Remember three things: you have got to be more efficient than anyone else except myself; never give an order that cannot reasonably be carried out; and never hesitate over making a decision. Lastly, if the legion is inefficient, remember, I shall blame you and not the men.”

He smiled. He said, quietly, “I will do my best, general.”

To Julius Optatus, I said, “You are now the quartermaster. You will get more money and seven times as much work. In addition, you are going to be a most unusual quartermaster: one who does not take bribes or sell stores for personal profit. If you do then I will break you. Is that clear?”

He nodded, speechless.